


A Certain Energy

by themoonandmargot



Category: Smosh
Genre: #BroNuzzle: Origins, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Shayne is a lil shit while Damien plays video games, sleepytime junction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandmargot/pseuds/themoonandmargot
Summary: For the smallest of moments, Damien was happy for Shayne. Really, truly happy. But then Shayne had to open his mouth."You can't do better than that," he said, pride in his voice.Damien snorted. "Wanna bet?"





	A Certain Energy

Crushed Red Bull cans, regretfully-empty Chinese takeout cartons, all illuminated by the blinding TV lights… It’s the type of scene that makes mothers frown, or that urges potential girlfriends to turn around and run in the opposite direction. Damien is aware of this, yet nevertheless he keeps his focus on the FPS game in front of him, unmoving and unbothered.

“Mmph.”

Damien allows his eyes to stray from the screen for only a second. “What was that?” he asks, distracted.

Toothbrush in mouth, Shayne emerges from the bathroom. “You’re gonna be dead tomorrow if you pull an all-nighter.” A drop of blue foam threatens to drip off his chin, and he curses before retreating back inside the bathroom.

“I’m not pulling an all-nighter,” Damien scoffs. “And the only ‘dead’ around these parts is this here zombie-man. Boom!”

The old speakers rattle the TV stand as another enemy moans in defeat; though with an additional flood of zombies storming the base, Damien knows the battle is far from over. “Good luck with that,” Shayne snorts, seemingly reappearing out of nowhere. He looms, eyes fixed on the screen, before shrugging. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you? Looks like you’re scared I’m better than you at a video game.”

“Pff, you wish. Your score was a fluke and you know it. You’re just scared I’m gonna win the bet.”

“No, I’m scared I’m gonna head off to sleep, and you’re gonna pretend you won the bet, and I’m gonna have to spend thirty dollars on one of your dumb games.”

“Mm, more like forty dollars. And it’s only dumb to you because you’d be bad at it.”

“Forty dollars, my ass.” The couch groans with Shayne as he takes the spot beside Damien. Considering all the time he’s spent playing video games, Shayne considers himself a better-than-average player, but Damien is on a whole other level. It’s stupidly amazing (and amazingly stupid, Shayne might add) how  _ good _ Damien is, how quick-witted he can be, how unrelenting. And with all that in mind, Shayne decides he simply can’t risk losing his high score to his best friend.

He pokes Damien’s cheek, watching how his fingernail manipulates the skin. He continues poking until he feels Damien’s face tighten in a smile. “Is this a distraction tactic?” Damien asks.

“No,” Shayne says. “This is me looking out for you, Damien. This is me telling you that you need to go to sleep.”

“Oh, sure,” Damien quips. “Well, I’m not going to sleep until I beat your score, so you can just head off to sleep now and give me your money in the morning.”

Shayne’s jaw drops in fake-offense. He pokes Damien’s face with extra gusto, then aims for Damien’s waist. Damien jerks away, laughing as Shayne jabs his side. “Not cool, man! I don’t deserve this! This is sabotage!  _ Stop it! _ ”

The laughter dies down, and Shayne fills the relative silence with a large yawn in Damien’s direction. He flops down onto the couch with flourish, making Damien sway in the aftershocks. With Damien at his feet, Shayne finds a whole new world of possible annoyances. “Hey, can you do me a favor?” he asks.

“No.”

“Can you, uh, smell my feet?” Giggling, Shayne lifts and waves his foot past Damien’s face.

Damien bounds away, angling his chin up to keep his vision free of feet. “C’mon man, you’re, like, actually cheating now!” he protests.

“Nope, I’m letting you smell my feet.” He kicks both his feet up, then pats them against Damien’s bicep. It proves a great beat for his impromptu chant: “Da-mi-en, go to sleep, or else you must smell my feet.”

“Mm, slant rhyme, feet and sleep. You could do better,” Damien murmurs, prompting Shayne to tickle his sides even more.

Eventually, Shayne lowers his legs and rests his eyes, only to be reanimated by the fanfare of another completed level. Drearily, Damien cheers for himself and waits for the next stage to load.

Shayne sits up, gaining the attention of his friend. “It really is late, isn’t it?” Damien asks, smirking at the hair that hangs over Shayne’s eyes.

“It’s too late, honestly. I have no idea how we’re getting up in the morning.”

“Ah, well,” Damien shrugs. He waves his controller in the air. “I’m always one for a challenge, aren’t I?”

Shayne stares ahead. The after-midnight hours have always hosted a certain energy between them, a special bond capable of tearing down any boundary of moderation—unless, Shayne presumes, they acknowledge it.

But this time, he sees the energy right in front of him. At first he thinks it’s the yellow in the living room lights, or the delirium of sleep deprivation, but he swears it’s there, how the world around Damien goes fuzzy, like a hazy Instagram filter. His eyes linger on Damien’s smile—warm, familiar, and strangely alluring. The longer Shayne forgets to look away, the further it softens the edges, and the more afraid Shayne is of losing it all.

And he almost does, when the level finally loads and Damien snaps back into action. He feels Damien remember where they are and what they’re here for, and Shayne swears he’s never felt exhaustion so deeply set in his bones; and he groans, letting his head drop and prodding his tired eyes into Damien’s shoulder, because  _ fuck it _ , he just doesn’t care anymore.

Shayne expects Damien to tense under his weight, or to leap away from him. Rather, he laughs. “Are you… nuzzling me?”

Shayne looks up, hair messier than ever. “I’m nuzzling you, bro. I’m bro-nuzzling you.”

Damien laughs again and lowers his voice to the register of a greasy surfer dude. “There are only two things I love in life: my bros, and nuzzling said bros.”

“God, bro, I’m gonna bring you home and I’m gonna bro-nuzzle you so goddamn hard tonight,” Shayne declares. He nudges Damien with his forehead once more, picking up speed until he’s practically rubbing his head against Damien’s arm.

“Gross.  _ Gross. _ You’re getting your hair juices all over my sleeve,” Damien titters, the clack of his controller growing louder.

“Hair juices?” Shayne sputters. “Fuck, bro, my hair… it’s gonna  _ juice _ .”

Damien groans in disgust and then, to both their surprise— _ what? no! _ —the music for the death sequence thunders out from the speakers. Shayne whips his head up, unbelieving of the darkness that fills the TV screen. He latches onto Damien’s arm, screeching his name.

“What the hell! I totally had that!” Damien cries.

“I was actually rooting for you there,” Shayne says, and it takes a moment for Damien to process Shayne’s words before tossing his controller onto the couch.

“You were distracting me the entire time!”

“Yeah, but I never actually wanted you to lose! Not at the end!”

They sit there in shock, listening to the soundtrack of the main screen, until Damien picks up his controller. “I’m having another go at it.”

“No, you’re not,” Shayne says, snatching the controller from Damien’s hands.

“But that wasn’t even a fair–”

“I’ll buy you the game, okay? Forty bucks, I don’t care. Just go to sleep.”

Damien’s eyes soften, then squint in suspicion. “You’re lying,” he presumes.

“I’m not. I’ll buy you the game, I swear. You just have to go to sleep. That’s all you have to do.” Shayne holds out his hand. “Deal?”

A question in his eyes, Damien hesitates, but he ultimately shakes on it. “Deal. But does that mean all the work I did in the past hour was useless?”

“No,” Shayne replies, rising to his feet and pulling Damien up with him. “It was worth it.”

~

It’s not until next morning during breakfast that Shayne comes to a realization. He won the bet by technicality, sure. And yes, his wallet still ended up forty dollars lighter.

But at the stove stands Damien, tired out of his mind because he woke up early to make them both breakfast; humming just loudly enough to be heard over the sizzle of eggs; hair scruffy and golden in the dawn; still wearing his clothes from yesterday, though the shirt is actually one of Shayne’s that got scrambled in the wash; turning and beaming at him with an energy that seems to be here for good—and with all this and more at his fingertips, Shayne knows he really is a winner.


End file.
